


like the shadow of a blackbird (two shots to the heart)

by Apricot



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Rey (Star Wars), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Ben Solo is 100 percent done with this Omega bullshit, Body Horror, Espionage, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Mildly Dubious Consent, Neo Noir, Omega Kylo Ren, Omega Verse, Possessive Behavior, Slow Burn, Trope Subversion/Inversion, Undercover Missions, welcome to the niche corner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-06 23:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14658897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apricot/pseuds/Apricot
Summary: “It’s come to our attention that the Skywalker program may be in play.”A modern spy AU with a side bonus of a/b/o.Featuring:Kylo Ren: SNOKE agent, assassin, spy, and self-hating Omega.Rey: an Alpha hacker/software developer who may have just cracked the secret to the most dangerous lines of code on Earth.SNOKE (Strategic New Operations and Knowledge Enhancement): A rogue agency willing to sell that information to the highest bidder...and therefore shape the destinies of the most powerful governments in the world.





	like the shadow of a blackbird (two shots to the heart)

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently we're doing this thing. Never say never, kids. 
> 
> I was VERY interested in how o!Kylo might work when you stick him with an a!Rey and....well, this is the result. So bear with me, because I am still learning this trope.
> 
> (If you have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, you may want to check [ this primer out ](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Alpha/Beta/Omega). Have fun! :D)

**_Then._**

The forest was on fire.

It raged around him, but silently. For a moment, he just stared at it.

Then he remembered the blast-- the blast that had taken the control center. A concussive explosion that had knocked him on his ass, and probably blown out his eardrums. Hopefully not permanently. Now everything was muted, like a silent film, flashing past his eyes. He watched bemusedly a shadow caught his attention, outlined black against the raging perimeter of fire. One of the techs, tripping over his own two feet, trying to get into the relative safety of the woods.

The key word being _relative_ , because even though the trees all around were currently blazing, it was nothing compared to the ruin of the base-- spitting smoke and debris into the air.

The ground trembled beneath him, a violent shudder that made his lip curl and sent something spiking through his brain. That would be the levels _inside_ , his mind told him belatedly, collapsing and imploding. The very earth would tear itself apart and all that would be left would be a crater in a few minutes. A massive crater to encapsulate the _momentousness_ of their fuck-up.

Something stung the corner of his eye, something cold. It dripped into his eye further, making it sting, and suddenly he was aware of the way he _hurt._ It was as if someone had taken a knife to his skin. He tried to swallow and tasted blood.

Another rumble. Adrenaline and instinct were finally cutting through his shock, and he turned to stare at the fire again, at the running feet around him. The haze seemed to clear for a few seconds, a badly-tuned radio coming in and out of focus, and with it he could hear the muffled shouts and screams. He willed himself to move. Willed himself to get up. It didn’t work. Every muscle in his body screamed at him as he did manage to flip over, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. White on red. No, red on white. His blood, on the snow. Grey smoke turning it all into muddied ash. His face was burning.

_Go. Move. Now._

Someone shouted those words at him, and he shook his head. More words. He was already trying to move-- trying, and failing. Someone spat a curse and then he was wrenched upward-- fire dancing in front of his face, in his head, his shoulder, everywhere. The ground began to slip away beneath his feet, and he stumbled. He let himself look back once more at the collapsing building before it went dark.

They’d failed.

No.

 _He’d_ failed.

***

**_Now._ **

In a better town, in a better time of year, maybe, this cafe might have been a tourist favorite. It might have been the kind that could have gotten away with charging double the Euros simply because it flirted with a fair proximity to the ocean and the wharf. The kind where tired vacationers dragged their sandy, sticky children indoors, willing to pay whatever they could for a bit of respite from the sand and the surf.

But instead, it was a shitty cafe in a shitty country, in a shitty part of town, probably during the shittiest time of the year. There were customers, sure, but none of them screamed _tourist._ Most of them had the grim look of the local population, determined to swallow down the mediocre fare before needing to return to their jobs or their lives or wherever else they were when they weren’t here.

The courtyard behind was even worse. It was peppered with a dozen small tables and chairs, cheap, plastic ones, ones that were just short enough that his legs curled uncomfortably beneath if he ever tried to fully tuck them under. These meetings always left him with the sensation of sweat and mold permeating every seam of his clothes. The overhang-- tactically advantageous-- shielded them from everything but the bravest rays of sun. Of course, the sun had never been out when he’d been summoned here, so he couldn’t ever test that theory. The heavy grey clouds always blotted it out, leaving the air cold and thick with a fine mist that never quite translated into rain.

He hated it here.

If he’d been choosing the locations, he’d have struck it from his internal roster, no matter how secure. But his handler must have enjoyed it, because at every meeting, Gould was already sitting at table near the back, in his preferred seat. He wasn’t surprised to see him already there. He’d tried, a few times, to see if he could beat him to the location and get there first. Every time, Gould had somehow managed to be there before him. He’d leave after him, too. No opportunity to glean any information about the direction he took.

There were other assets posted in this cafe, mingling among the tired locals. SNOKE security. Gould might be predictable, but he wasn’t an idiot.

He glanced over the other customers as he entered through the main part of the restaurant and tried to mentally catalog their faces, a ritual he did every time he met Gould here. The restaurant staff surely all had to be on SNOKE’s payroll, even if they weren’t SNOKE agents themselves. And the tall, brutish man at the bar top-- Kylo recognized him. He’d seen him here before.

None of the other patrons seemed familiar today, but that didn’t mean anything. He had no doubt that if anything happened to Gould, he’d have a nearly suicidal run to try and get out of this place again. The exits were controlled. That was probably the reason his handler forced him to return here.

Of course, it also could have been _because_ he disliked it so much, and Gould was being an asshole. That would also be consistent.

A fan spinning idly above was doing a slow rotation overhead, struggling to push around the damp air and mostly failing. So Kylo managed to get halfway across the room before the foreign scent wormed its way under his nose-- one that made his back stiffen automatically.

_Alpha._

A second glance to the bar counter. The bartender was watching him, the fan blades above forcing panting breaths of his scent into Kylo's nose. The man met his eyes-- and grinned, an expression that might have been about friendly interest, but somehow Kylo doubted it. He forced his gaze forward and his hands to be still, not drawing his collar up tighter around his throat like he suddenly wanted to as he cleared the doorway and stepped into the courtyard.

There was Gould.

His hat was drawn low over his face, as always, less to protect him from being recognized than to disguise from the cut scar on his forehead, to draw the eye away from the ungraceful symmetry of the collapsed cheekbone, the scarring on his face. It was a hideous face, one that you would remember. Not exactly an advantage in their line of work.

 _Perhaps he’d have to adopt something similar now_ , he thought idly. It still jarred him every time he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

He sat down at the table, positioning his back to give him a full view of both of the exit points as well.

Gould’s gaze was almost reptilian, watching Kylo out of the corner of his eye. As usual, the close proximity to the man meant that his scent rolled over him almost immediately, replacing that lingering stain of the Alpha bartender’s. It was a sickening, uncomfortable wash of Alpha pheromones and Gould’s own unique cocktail that both repelled and tugged at something deep in him, like a fishhook plunged into his innards.

Years ago, when he’d first signed up with SNOKE, he’d played at resisting. He’d breathed through his mouth, made himself hold out on Gould’s commands for as long as he possibly could. It had just made it worse in the end. It wasn’t as if Gould controlled him-- no Alpha could _force_ an Omega, not like that, not like the old stories. If Kylo had thought that was possible, he would have ended his own miserable existence a long, long time ago.

But the flush of relief he’d get when he followed Gould’s orders perfectly, when he executed his mission, the look on his mentor’s face when he did well...

That look wasn’t on Gould’s face now. Kylo already could feel his stomach knotting.

Gould drummed his fingernails against the plain white tablecloth. “How’s your wound?”

“It’s nothing.” He was staring down at the table; he dragged his eyes up to meet Gould’s gaze instead, despite the way it intensified the twisting inside him.

Gould smiled faintly, like he knew the effort it took.

There had been weeks of recovery after the failure at Takodana. The mission had been a complete disaster. For a while, he’d expected it would be the end of him-- some knife in an alley, a bomb in his car, or more likely a gun to his temple in the middle of the night. Oblivion. But SNOKE hadn’t sent anyone, which meant that they thought Kylo still had some use. He needed to prove them right.

“You have an assignment for me.”  

His handler didn’t move. For a second, Kylo had a horrible sense of foreboding that Gould would reach across the table, trail his fingertips down the side of his face.

Every muscle in him went taunt with the expectation of it, breathing in the choking, cloying wash of Alpha pheromone, forcing that breath to be normal, calm. He let the fear twist into hatred, let it feed his resolution to be utterly still and distract himself from the compulsion to bare his throat.

 _Just do it, Omega,_ something in his head sneered. _It’s what you were made for._

The surpressents he used were supposed to help with this, as well as disguise his own scent. And they did, mostly. The fact that Gould’s managed to somehow permeate even that protection had been something he could never really figure out.

He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to make the movement as small as he could to make it unnoticeable. It tugged at the wound on his face, but he didn’t flinch. He held, concentrating so hard he could hear the pulse of his temple, the heavy throb of his heartbeat. The moment stretched.

Gould puffed out a slightly annoyed chuckle, but finally leaned back.

The tension in his shoulders collapsed, like someone had cut the strings pulling them tight, but Kylo caught himself before he sagged forward. _No weakness._

A glance from Gould, and one of the women from the corner patio tables-- Kylo hadn’t even clocked her, his gut pointed out with a stab-- stood up, cutting off her conversation to saunter over to their table and drop off a plain beige folder, before turning on her heel to take her seat again. Despite her height, she didn’t seem to have trouble with the patio chairs at all.

“You don’t deserve this second chance.” Gould’s voice was flat. “And there won’t be another.”

Nothing he didn’t already know. He flipped open the folder, glad to have the distraction. It was a technical schematic, and a few surveillance photos-- a girl, early twenties, maybe. The first was a still from a security camera, since she was staring off into the distance in the opposite direction, looking as if she was waiting to cross the street. The other was closer-- perhaps taken with a long lens as she sat at the small patio table, staring intently into the computer screen that took up most of the table surface. The shot was good enough that he could make out the faint furrow of her brow and the reflection of the screen on her glasses.

“It’s come to our attention that the Skywalker program may be in play.”

That jerked his attention away. He threw Gould a look, his jaw working slightly. The Skywalker program-- another one of of his failures, although perhaps less so because its existence had been a myth, some kind of technological fable ever since the world had gone to wireless. SNOKE had been interested in it. Very interested in it. One of his first tasks had been to track the rumors of its location, to find anyone who might actually hold some connection to it, and it had always been a dead end. The closest he’d ever thought he’d come had been tracking a group in California, since there had been talk that they’d somehow gotten a hold of the code and were using it to streamline their social media platform tools. It had just been a cheap grab for publicity-- online rumors fed to promote their ridiculous start-up. A well-placed word in the right government official’s ear had seen that instead they’d been tied up in bureaucratic red-tape and federal investigations, and their IPO had subsequently tanked. SNOKE’s little revenge for wasting their time.

There hadn’t been any other leads worth following since then. He’d reassured Gould and his superiors that it was because it _was_ a myth-- some fantasy concocted out of too much science fiction and hacker lore. And apparently he’d been wrong. Again.

“Has there been word?” He flipped over the photos. The girl’s CV was beneath, as well as a few more blurry shots, but nothing with the clarity of the first two. Surprisingly little information, given SNOKE’s resources. An address of a flat in London, scrawled across the bottom of the CV.

“More rumors, as always. But this time, there’s a name attached. _Her_ name-- or rather, her alias. She’s a busy little thing.” He gestured to one of the photos, too blurry to see the girl’s face as she strode through a doorway, but the sign over the building was clear. Resistance Technology. “She’s their most recent hire and doing well, it seems. But her loyalty can’t be fully developed with them yet. We think with the right leverage, she’ll be...amenable.”

“What kind of leverage.”

“Make contact, first, and establish if she even has the program. We want an assessment before we determine if it’s any real threat. Or if Skywalker even exists. Then we’ll talk about what your next steps will be.”

Oversight. Kylo grit his teeth. That meant that someone else would probably be tasked to watch _him_ , even as he undertook the mission. “You think she might know something.” He glanced down at the photo of the girl once more. She looked...like no one special. Just some girl you could pass by on any street, in any country, and not look at twice. “Or that somehow, she gained access to the program. If she has it, she would have used or sold it--”

“If she had it, we would already have acquired what we needed,” Gould bit out. He sounded a little annoyed. “Your job is to find _out_ how much she knows and if she does have access to the code, get it. Then clean the scene of anyone who ever _could_ have had knowledge of it. If they were ever CC’ed on an email by this girl, I want photos and a report on them. If you think they might be _considered_ a threat to us…”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Kylo knew. His eyes lingered on her face for one more second before he flipped the photo over and found the London address again, at the bottom of the CV. He memorized it, before finally flicking the folder closed.

Gould took it back, watching Kylo impassively.

“That is, if this is something that you can handle,” he finally said. His words were light. “If you need more time to recover…”

“No.” His voice was clipped.

“Good.” Gould reached into his jacket, pulling out another bundle, and he knew better than to flinch. If Gould pulled out a gun right now and shot him in the head, there would be nothing Kylo could do about it-- and they both knew it. “Your cover identity, and a burner. Although the picture isn't quite up-to-date, now, is it?”

It was all in his current alias’ name, and with it-- a New Republic badge, with one of his photos, taken before Takodana. For a second Kylo stared at it, at the way the bright lights seemed to make his cheeks more hollow, the circles under his eyes more stark. “So I’m New Republic special intelligence.”

“It might come in handy, in the event you need to get close enough to speak with her,” Gould said evenly. There was something behind his eyes that Kylo couldn’t read. Something both hungry and satisfied, at the same time. He didn’t like it. “But I doubt she’ll be much trouble for you. The girl is most likely just the key we need to open the door. An asset, and expendable.”

Expendable. For some reason, the furrowed brow and her expression flashed through his head again. He brushed it away and pocketed the new burner phone. It buzzed against his chest for a second, and Gould gave him a thin smile.

“That will be your travel confirmation,” he said. “Enjoy your time in London. I know you’ll be missed here. But we’ll be expecting regular check-ins, I’m sure.”

Kylo didn’t say anything to that. Now he was doubly-sure that he’d be watched. Gould didn’t like having him on a long leash. He leaned forward a little, unfolding himself from the chair as he made to leave.

“And Ren.”

He looked up.

“Do yourself a favor, and get this done quickly.” Gould’s face almost looked kind, and in reaction he felt that familiar pulse wash over him. _Alpha wants, Alpha needs, doitdoitdoit--_ he curled his fingers into his thigh, as hard as he could through the thick fabric of his pants, and dug in. “You don’t want to disappoint us again. Takodana was an error, but anything else now would make me reconsider your commitment to us and your effectiveness with the agency.”

Never mind that he’d given everything he had to them. To Gould. His anger threatened to bleed out of him, out his mouth, and for an instant he imagined letting it loose. He could reach Gould in under two seconds. Perhaps quick enough to actually make an impact before he was cut down. But instead he managed a curt nod, clinging to his composure before he got out of the chair and stalked away, not bothering to watch the others now, not bothering to try and notice who was observing him too closely and who might be tracking him as he left.

He would see this mission through to the end. And if this girl had anything to do with the Skywalker program, could get him what he needed...he’d take what he had to from her.

And remove anyone who got in his way.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from _Introduction to Spy Narrative as Love Story_ by Jeannine Hall Gailey.
> 
> Come yell at me at my [writing tumblr](https://apricotscribbles.tumblr.com), if you're so inclined.


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